


a change of heart (and lukewarm coffee)

by lakeffectkid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, romano swears a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lakeffectkid/pseuds/lakeffectkid
Summary: “If you stare any harder, your eyes are gonna fall out,” Romano exhales a puff of smoke away from his brother’s face, out the open window. “Gesu Cristo, you’re like a lovesick teenager.”“I’m not staring!” Romano is well aware his brother is full of shit, notices his brother’s gaze drift back to his boyfriend-fiance-whatever chopping wood to heat the pizza oven tonight for dinner. “You’re too tough on me, fratello.”or, nosy younger brothers need to mind their own business.





	a change of heart (and lukewarm coffee)

“If you stare any harder, your eyes are gonna fall out,” Romano exhales a puff of smoke away from his brother’s face, out the open window. His brother doesn't mind him smoking indoors and if he did, Romano would go outside. “Gesu Cristo, you’re like a lovesick teenager.” He isn't bitter or jealous of what his little brother has. He never saw the appeal of domesticity in the first place. His brother's house where dinner is held tonight is nestled in the Tuscan countryside, picturesque rolling green hills and everything expected from the location. This isn't Romano's territory, his is rough around the edges and battered but still standing. kind of like him, he supposes.

“I’m not staring!” Feliciano huffs and pouts. Romano is well aware his brother is full of shit, notices his brother’s gaze drift back to his boyfriend-fiance-whatever chopping wood to heat the pizza oven tonight for dinner. It's kind of disgusting how Feliciano's eyes follow the rise and fall of his boyfriend-fiance-whatever's arms, up and down, up and down, like one of those lucky cats Kiku had gifted way back when. (The lucky cat's arm swings to and fro in the living room next to the other gifts their nation friends have given.) “You’re too tough on me, fratello.” 

He's immune to his baby brother's whining, has been immune despite their centuries of feuding and favoritism getting in the way of a healthy familial relationship. They can't change what happened in the past so they're making the most of the present. He'd prefer a little less german in his present, however, he can't control who his brother has feelings for. Anyway. 

He leans back against the kitchen counter and the crisp marble's rounded edge digs into his lower back. He keeps track of what prep work has to be done to make dinner properly and effectively while keeping an eye on his brother. He's laid back about many things but cooking is one task he never half-asses and takes great pride in; their politicians may be shitty but the food sure isn't. “It’s been decades and you’re still starry eyed over him. What gives? What makes him so special?”

Feliciano shrugs at his brother, salting pasta water that isn’t going to boil until everything’s nearly finished and drying wine glasses. “He’s good to me now, I just got really lucky.” That’s a massive understatement. Romano scoffs and taps out his cigarette in the ash tray, washing his hands before getting a clean knife. “I mean, we disagree on some things and then we apologize without going to bed angry.”

Feliciano, however, doesn't bring up the glaring red dot of their past, how he watched his cities and his heart get destroyed by the same person lighting the pizza oven in the backyard. Romano never forgets but he does forgive. 

“You can say that again. Lucky is an understatement.” The ungraceful snort and eye roll isn’t directly because he’s jealous of his brother’s life, he's jealous of his brother's luck. He also wonders what kind of brain damage Ludwig has to stay with his baby brother for that long. (Romano's on-off relationship has been “off” more than “on” recently.) “Refill my glass? I can’t chop vegetables like this.”

Feliciano obliges and fondly calls his brother a wino while topping off his glass; Romano’s not good at schmoozing unless there are pretty girls involved and rather than pretend to want to be around the company until there’s food involved, he’ll stay inside and watch. There aren't any girls coming tonight; Belle couldn't make it and Eliza is off babysitting Nicklaus for the evening. He tried.

 

Cooking is the one thing both of them agree on despite linguistic and cultural differences - Feliciano’s a little more refined and takes pride in appearances while Romano considers flavor before anything else. They meet somewhere in the middle and the younger spends five minutes artfully arranging everything on serving plates.

The pizza oven roars to life and it’s the right temperature that the schiacciata will bake evenly with enough time to rest and be cut without falling apart. Romano makes a panzanella salad he'd consider expertly done, cleaning the kitchen as he goes so there's nothing to do later tonight. Most of the food is finger food or doesn't require utensils but there's a full set for four anyway. Feliciano sets the table outside with coordinated ceramic plates in red and white, the nice ones reserved for company, folding linen napkins in neat rectangles. The whole scene is domestic and Romano gags a little as Ludwig smooths out a pinched corner in the tablecloth and praises Feliciano on good use of color theory. "Can you fix the string lights? They're falling off the pergola."

Like a well trained dog, Ludwig hooks the lights onto a metal hook screwed into the wooden pergola so it completes the scene. Of course. Keeping up with the Vargas-Beilschmidts. 

He doesn't need to know german to understand that the fierce giggling and blush dotting his brother's upper cheekbones and nose isn't from two sips of wine. 

****

Instead of shuffling serving trays and table settings around so everything fits, Romano gets some music playing to stave off any awkward silences or badly timed jokes that might happen later in the evening. There's a Fellini movie marathon on later tonight he can retreat to if it gets too bad. Ludwig's brother arrives through the back gate when Romano is bringing two more wine glasses outside and a bottle opener tucked in his front pocket, hoisting his own offering of a white Riesling in one hand and waving with the other. "you made it!"

Feliciano greets the new arrival with a hug that looks like it hurts, avoiding the chipped tile from romano's last temper tantrum that they don't bring up anymore, otherwise it'll result in a matching chipped tile. Romano has a small scar on his forearm from his brother lashing out at him as a result.

The meal goes well - nobody brings up politics outside of the usual complains about parliament and the political scandal du jour. Gilbert is complimenting the food and actively making eye contact with Romano that he'd take as flirting if he was paying more attention. He would be more flattered if he knew Gilbert better but a compliment is a compliment and he takes it to heart when it comes to the one thing he knows he's good at. (And it beats having to look at the lovebirds, who are keeping it toned down for once in their lives.) The night creeps by slowly and Gilbert catches Romano's foot under the table with his own - he's wearing converse with his dressed up outfit, a little bit of youth to contrast how serious he is.

The conversation drifts from topic to topic and they mutually agree to leave soccer ("it's fußball" "shut up, it's called calcio") out so as to not start a war or break the fine china. Romano's reserve breaks and he finally loosens up, cracking a smile that's the product of good wine and good food.

Nobody has room for dessert but there’s gelato in the freezer and it’s free game for anyone who wants to get up. Except, by the state of the backyard, Feliciano is ready to sleep in the Tuscan night wearing Ludwig's jacket around his shoulders and a content smile on his face. Gilbert aww’s and snaps a picture to embarrass his brother with later.

Romano needs a smoke otherwise he’ll choke on the amount of sweetness radiating from those two. His fingers itch to flick a lighter to life.

 

“Mind if I join you?” It’s Gilbert, who trails behind Romano like a shadow. He's a few steps out the gate and down the quiet street where a few neighbors have their lights on and others have turned in for the night. Romano makes a noncommittal hand gesture, the closest thing to an answer he can manage “I just need a light.”

Up close under a streetlight Romano notices that Gilbert isn’t completely identical to his brother. Gilbert never was identical to his brother in the first place, it was just Romano's internalized bias against them that warped his opinion. They resemble each other, sure, the same nose and same chin but that's maybe it. Gilbert’s face is a little softer; his jawline isn’t nearly as defined and he’s shorter. Romano’s not interested in him.

Romano walks off the wine one step at a time and he doesn’t noticeably stumble; wine isn’t strong enough to bring him down but the sangria he makes can if done properly. “Oh, right. here’s the lighter.” He forgot to get it out of his pocket in the first place, feels the cool plastic before the metal head of the lighter and assumed it was his house keys.

He doesn’t feel much like smoking anymore; the night is a good kind of warm where Gilbert has his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and Romano unbuttoned the first few of his own. His forearms are scarred up and down, ranging from big ones that mar the pale skin to small ones that could pass for beauty marks. He reaches into a crumpled pack and fishes one out, holds it between two fingers without dropping the pack. “Thanks, do you want it first?”

“I don’t know if i want a cigarette anymore. I think I just needed a walk.” Their hands brush when the lighter exchanges hands - a momentary spark of contact. “When did you start smoking?”

“During the second war it got pretty bad, and, well, behind the curtain there wasn’t much else to do but wait for everything to pass. There wasn't a lot to eat either and smoking kept my appetite down. Whatever we got for rations I gave to Eliza or someone who needed it more than me.” Romano feels bad for saying all of those bad things about Gilbert, because he really isn't a bad guy and Romano is kind of a stubborn dick when he wants to be. Gilbert’s fingers curl around the lighter so delicately, flicking it to life with expertise. That’s a stark contrast to gripping the trigger of a gun or a bayonet, ready to fight. Romano's been on both ends of those things before and is grateful it's over with. “It’s the occasional one now, Ludwig quit sometime in the eighties and I’m working on it. You?”

“I started in the thirties, quit, started again, quit again, repeat cycle for the next thirty years.” Romano kicks small stones out of his way, catching the occasional glance at Gilbert and how effortlessly he radiated confidence despite recounting what would be considered a tragic story. “Antonio kept me off them for a while, and then we broke up.”

“Sorry about that.” Gilbert ducks his head and kicks a pebble. It rolls into the middle of the street to join the other stones Romano kicked earlier.

“Why? We were good for a while and then shit went south.” It’s the truth and he wouldn't fabricate it to make himself look better. “We were both stupid and bad at communicating when we weren’t fucking.” Gilbert laughs at that last comment. It’s a good laugh, not his usual boisterous one that gets on Romano's nerves.

Gilbert finishes his one cigarette and crushes it under his heel, makes a face at the smell on his hands. “Do you want to keep walking? The dynamic duo will be okay on their own.”

 

It’s later, maybe a half hour hour later when they come back and the backyard’s cleaned up, save for the wine bottle. “Let’s finish this off, there isn’t much left.”

“Says the one who drinks beer like it’s water.” Romano teases and sticks his tongue out; he's not a beer person and gilbert isn’t a wine person. or so he thought until Gilbert showed up with the Riesling. “glasses are inside.”

Romano eats gelato out of the container on the kitchen island and gets some on the corners of his mouth - if Gilbert’s moral compass wasn’t pointing in the right direction for once, and if Romano wasn’t considering a rebound, it’d be the right timing. “What’re you looking at?”

(Internally, Romano wonders if Gilbert would even be a rebound since this off period has lasted longer than usual without either of them attempting to patch things up.)

“You got some, uh.” Gilbert motions to the corner of his mouth and wipes at it with his thumb, trying to get his point across. Romano doesn’t get it and the gelato runs down his chin. 

“Where are the glasses?”

“In the cabinet to your left.” Romano points with the spoon (after sucking it clean and making an obnoxious noise as he did so).

There’s nothing on except soccer (“it’s calcio, idiot.” “no, it’s fußball.”) recaps at this hour when they settle in on the small couch shoulder-to-shoulder. Romano is a little upset the Fellini marathon is over and he missed it but he's coming around to getting to know Gilbert more through playful arguing over which teams are better and which players they mutually dislike.

 

The digital clock on Romano’s phone blinks an angry red 2:30am by the time Gilbert yawns and stretches, signaling bedtime. It's a wonder the battery is still alive, holding out at thirty four percent but it won't stay that way much longer. “The bathroom is this way, try not to wake the other two.” He'll be leaving tomorrow morning anyway.

“He can sleep through a bomb dropping, trust me.” Romano takes the other's word for it, even the off color humor that he shouldn't laugh at but gets a kick out of anyway. “Is the couch a pull out?”

The thought’s been sitting at the back of Romano's mind for the entire night since they went out for that walk earlier. They may or may not have chemistry but you don't need chemistry to share a bed. “Why don’t you-”

“-stay with you tonight?” Gilbert finishes the sentence. _Oh_. So Romano isn’t the only one here that was teasing the idea.

He doesn’t like uncertainty (but most people don’t) and there’s a lot of it swirling around in the pit of his stomach.

 

In the morning he’s greeted by Gilbert snoring fiercely into the pillow and adorable bedhead next to him. (who thinks bedhead is adorable? idiots do. idiots like Feliciano who coo over sleepy pictures posted on Instagram and abuse hashtags without considering their followers' sanity.) “Get up!” he pokes at Gilbert’s side a few times and makes an aggravated cat-like noise when he doesn’t stir, making a beeline for coffee instead. "Get your own damn coffee, then."

“Good to see you awake before one in the afternoon.” Feliciano’s smug because Romano’s been caught red handed and has nothing to defend himself with. He isn't scowling for once and instead of his shirt, he's wearing Gilbert's t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders and is too big around his waist. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing! Why do you ask? And why do you look so fucking smug?” Romano snaps. It's ten am (too early for him to be awake) and making eye contact is fatal. “Where’s macho man?”

“He’s taking his morning run and has no idea you slept with his brother.” The look of curiosity Feliciano wears all over his face makes Romano want to go back to bed and forget this even happened. “Did you actually sleep with him or just spoon all night? I won't tell, I promise.” 

“We just slept in the same bed last night, that’s all. Christ.” Romano pours more milk than necessary in his coffee to make up for the extra bitterness he's feeling today. “Little brothers are so nosy.” He noisily stirs for extra effect, maintaining eye contact with Feliciano who isn't talking for once but is grinning instead. 

“I’m checking up on you so you don’t get hurt. That's what family does.” Feliciano takes an extra long sip and watches him from over the edge of his cup with big hazel eyes as wide as saucers. “You look less grouchy, is all I’m saying. It looks good on you.” 

_That's what family does._ Romano processes those words again and again on loop, coming around to the idea of a family. “I don’t know what we are, if we're even anything at all or if he wants to be something, so don’t ask just yet.” he puts bread in the toaster and watches it brown, because he'd rather do that than make eye contact with his brother again. it pops up and he only jumps a little bit. damn it.

“I promise I won’t. until you’re back to your usual grouchy self I’ll just ask Gilbert myself. But do you want to be something?”

“Have I ever told you you’re fucking terrible?” Romano contemplates stabbing his brother with the nutella-covered knife but he'd feel bad wasting the nutella and the idea of explaining to Ludwig why his fiance-boyfriend-whatever is dead isn't appealing in the slightest. mopping blood off the floor is fine, however.

“Not recently, no.” Ludwig comes back from his run and Feliciano’s eyes drift to him and his sweat-damp t-shirt, breathing heavy and red in the face. “Anyway, how was your run, honey? Did you know your brother slept with Romano last night?”

“What.” Ludwig does an about face and goes back outside to avoid the conversation.

“You’re fucking terrible, fratellino.” feliciano drinks the last of his coffee and beckons Ludwig back inside, trying to explain the situation without breaking into fits of laughter on the patio while Romano sighs and lets his forehead thunk against the cabinet doors. "I hate you, don't touch me."

"You didn't say that last night when you asked to be the little spoon." Romano flinches; that isn't his brother's voice. it's definitely not Ludwig's either, and Romano's cat isn't here. "what are those two going on about?"

"They're being nosy and protective little brothers." Romano rubs at his temples. His coffee is a light tan color, too milky, and now it's room temperature. Fuck. "Feliciano opened his big mouth and said we slept together."

Gilbert laughs into the empty kitchen and rubs newly-found tension out of Romano's shoulders. "We did, technically."

"Don't even start, I won't hesitate to kick you out." Except Romano is weak to the shoulder massage and Gilbert is deceptively sweet in the morning. "Do you want breakfast? i'll cook." The latter snickers at Romano's quick change in attitude. "Don't laugh at me either."

"You're being cute right now, i can't help it." A blush creeps up Romano's face from his neck - the man he spooned with isn't supposed to be nice, he's supposed to say thank you and leave and never bring it up again. "Breakfast would be great, make me something you'd have on a saturday morning." 

Romano cracks eggs into a bowl and whisks with a fork, ideas spinning around too fast for him to pin one down. "Do you want to get lunch together? I know you're leaving later today, so it's alright if you say no." 

He expects a no or some kind of rejection and forgets the kitchen window is wide open. "Sure." His coffee has disappeared and so has his sanity. _What? He didn't say no?_ He thinks, over-whisking the eggs. "A date would be nice."

Feliciano emits an unholy noise of pure joy, akin to a puppy meeting another puppy or something equally cute and loud that Romano can't tolerate. "Good luck on your date later!"

"Go to hell!" Romano shouts out the window. Gilbert drinks his coffee-flavored milk and grins.

**Author's Note:**

> am i really publishing this. i really am. i wrote this god knows how long ago and it's getting a new breath of life with major editing, to revitalize my prumano love and their character dynamics. it got a new title and everything!
> 
> for clarity belle is belgium, eliza is hungary, and niklaus is kugelmugel! (look him up if you don't know him. he's a darling and my son.)


End file.
